The Hunch
by SportyScribe2
Summary: WARNING - SEASON 4 CHAPT 4 SPOILERS NOTE: Inspired by an updated entry to the DiP Episode list in Wikipedia...
1. The Brief

The emotional farewell had almost been too much for her to bear. To know she was consciously leaving her mother and her home once more, for who knows how long – Camille felt the tears form once more as she shifted in her seat.

She was on her way to Paris once more, to live a life undercover and her handler for the trip was sat beside her, ready to spirit away her legend and all the documentation she was to revise on their arrival.

It was certainly a curious case – she was being given the choice of two assignments. She would meet her new partner for a trafficking case in Paris, but she was being given a get out option. If, on meeting her partner she was to decide she could not go through with it, she was to slap him, and walk away, not to look back and she would be handed a new case on reaching the safe house.

She read the dossier over again – there were no pictures of her partner, with a note that he had undergone corrective surgery to change his appearance but he would make himself known with an agreed password. Her curiosity certainly had been piqued by the description of the case and of Captain Robert Pond (Retired). She would be his wife and they would be working the case together – it had already been going for four years, with some key landmark wins, but this would be for the long term.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Her farewell to the team had been hard, her mother even more so. She allowed herself to think about Humphrey. Dear awkward Humphrey. She would always be grateful for him for solving Richard's murder. She felt a pang when she thought of him. She had grown fond of Humphrey – sure. But deep down she knew that it had been Richard she had wanted to be with. But what's a girl to do when then man she had so wanted to be her blind date had been taken from her.

* * *

As the stewardess cleared away the meal and started to make the plan ready for landing she politely passed the person sat impassively next to her as she made her way to the lavatory at the back of the plane, asking if they could just watch her stuff for a moment. The man nodded, and as she obscured the view moving pas him, he deftly swept the files into his case, replacing her documents with a pack with her new identify. Gone was Camille Bordey, here was Marie Carnet-Pond. She was a business woman specializing in IT security and encryption solutions and as such, her work would take her away from her husband whose business now was focused on naval security. They had been apart for some time, estranged from each other for the past few years, and it was decision time – reconcile, or file for divorce.

Marie allowed herself an ironic chuckle. Her mother would have wanted to her to be just married, much less get divorced to a make-believe husband. Ah well, that was gone now. Another pang. Would she ever see her mother again?

* * *

Jetlag was a bitch. She woke up, trying to get her facts right in her mind. Her handler for the initial meeting was a young female officer – they had sat up talking most of the night – she'd been quizzed on her background legend, but the conversation had inevitably strayed to what was being left behind. It was not strictly the correct procedure but her handler knew that the night before the start of a new identity, it was sometimes necessary.

"So – you're ready? You look tired," Alize said.

"I am fine- Just a crazy night of dreams – people I left behind, people who left me behind…," she replied. She had been haunted in her dreams by one face in particular. Why he came back to her mind, she had no idea.

They had breakfast quickly before heading out to the Eiffel Tower. She knew where she had to be, and her partner would make themselves known to her. She felt the stirrings of adrenalin. That she felt truly alive. This was what she wanted.

She positioned herself by the ornate balustrades and looked at the Tower. She marveled at its iconic beauty when she became aware of a man standing to her right, wearing a short-cropped hair, a collar pulled up and a pair of glasses – her peripheral vision took him in without turning to acknowledge his presence. The traffickers under suspicion would no doubt have sent their own tails, and though she was aware of the Interpol teams, she made no attempt to look in any of their directions.

She rested her hand on the balustrade and readied herself as his hand covered hers. But when he spoke, her hands started to shake, breath becoming shallow.

"I had a hunch that you'd be here," he said – a voice she knew better than anyone. It took every ounce of strength not to say his name. His real name.

"Robert," she said, in a low voice, with the French pronunciation. She allowed herself to turn and look into the face of Richard Poole.


	2. The Assignment

"So your hunch paid off then, obviously," she said, surprising herself with how bitter it sounded. She knew she could not give anything away, but she felt tears rising, and desperately thought of a way to disguise them.

She couldn't stop herself, she lifted her hand to place to his chest, to feel his heart beating. The memories of the _murder_ came back in a rush. It was overwhelming and he stared intently – so intently she noticed for the first time his eyes were blue. His face looked just slightly different, he looked a little younger, his physique a lot fitter than his Saint Marie days.

Before she knew it, the words were out. "I should KILL you for what you did to me. You left me. For two years not a word, not a thing. And now you think you had a 'hunch'," she spat out the word, and he almost took an involuntary step back.

Momentary panic crossed his eyes and in a moment she realised he was not as used to undercover work, and this could throw him, putting them both at risk. She took a moment to control her breathing before leaning her head against his shoulder, putting her arms around him, feeling him tentatively putting his arms around her.

She murmured so softly that he could hardly hear it: "Are we being watched?"

"Yes," he whispered back. "Your one o'clock", She moved back slightly, her eyes taking in a man and a woman sitting apart from each other on a bench.

Still in an embrace he knew he had just this moment to try and make her understand.

"I know I hurt you, more than anything I regret that, I promise to make it up to you I do. It was never my intention to push you away, and god knows my biggest regret was never telling you how I felt before I left you."

She was trembling. "I loved you, I was in love with you. How could you?" She forced herself to take regular breaths. She had to get back in control.

"You need to make a decision …" he said.

She pulled away from him. Agreeing to the project would mean working with him, day and night. They would have to pull off the appearance of a married couple reconciling after a two year separation. Oh there would be plenty of scope for some shouting matches she thought to herself, with flickering amusement.

On the other hand she could slap him, hard for the pain he had caused her, and walk away, knowing she would never have to see him again. She would be given a different case, and her life would take a new direction.

In that moment everything of their two years together flooded back. The stolen looks, him opening up and confiding in her, the time her mother found mistletoe and contrived for them to share a shy Christmas kiss. She stole another at New Year.

He had never stopped staring at her intently, wanting to tell her everything, wanting to make it up to her, but he knew that was a fine balance that had to kept here, now before their emotions blew their entire cover.

She knew he had chosen his words carefully, but she knew what he meant.

She raised her hand and he flinched, ready for the blow that would take her out of his life forever, not to mention putting an almighty spanner in the works of the case.

She placed her hand on his cheek and looked back onto his eyes. She moved closer, as if to move into a hug once more, and oh so quietly whispered "We'd best make this look good then."

She pulled away, put her hands on his shoulders and moved in to kiss him. He responded as they shared a lingering kiss, with him pulling her into an embrace,

She broke away, her eyes bright with tears – "Take me home Robert. Let's talk then."

He took her hand and she leaned her head towards his shoulder as they walked towards the cabs.

She would find a way to make him suffer – for sure…. But for now the prospect of acting out as the wife of one of the most brilliant and infuriating men she had ever known… was worth her hunch, her dream of seeing him again.

He took her hand, giving it a re-assuring squeeze, and as they walked he said: "I still think Blackpool Tower is much better, and the London Eye, although Clacton doesn't actually have a tower," he began.

"Shut up, Robert."

"I was just saying…" he started, she dropped his hand and snap-pointed to a cab, smiling as he held the door open for her.


	3. Reasons to be Cheerful

Sitting in the cab on the way to the hotel, Camille reflected on the last few moments. Coming face to face with Richard for the first time since seeing him "dead" had been a shock, and as the taxi driver was winding his way through the Paris streets, with Richard clenching his hands against the door handle, her mind was in turmoil.

She had just a moment in which to make up her mind; to slap him (hard) and walk away for ever, or to give an indication that she was willing to bind herself to him once more, to work alongside him everyday, but this time on her turf.

She allowed herself a small glace. He looked fitter, he was wearing blue contacts which made him look a little less noticeable, and his hair was now pleasingly cropped in a slightly more modern style than how it had been when he was in Saint Marie.

He was muttering to himself about French drivers – ok well some things hadn't changed then!

As they pulled up to the hotel, and Richard grumpily paid him, she noticed her bags from the safe house were waiting on a cart to be taken up to her new room. She still didn't trust herself to say anything. She wanted to scream at him, but she also wanted to just spend the rest of the evening just talking to him, assuring herself this was not some kind of dream.

They travelled up in the lift without speaking, and were greeted by the Commissaire Serge Paire.

"Bonjour Camille – I am relieved to see you made your decision. We had bargained on the partnership between you and Poole for the success of the operation."

Camille shook his hand and offered no explanation, waiting for him to continue, as they walked the length of a corridor, and stopped at the door at the end. Paire opened the door to a luxurious looking suite. She raised her eyebrow questioningly at Richard as her luggage was taken off the cart and the attendant left.

She sat where the Commissaire indicated, as Richard sat opposite her.

"I'll get right to the point. I know you have history – I don't need explanations," he said as Richard opened his mouth to interrupt. "We have a month set aside for the paid of you to be completely au fait with your new identities. This entire floor is taken up with the co-operative teams from the Met, Interpol and the Police Nationale. Your suites are adjoining. The suite next to yours," he said nodding at Richard, "is vacant. You can scream and shout, throw things at each other, throw yourselves at each other for all I care, but I give you a week to settle your history before you met today. From next week you will be in your new identities completely."

Camille took a deep breath. This was certainly down to business. She did not know Paire herself, and would have to reach out to old friends in this week of grace to see what she could find out, although she had to stop a small smirk at the prospect of being given permission to throw herself at Richard.

"It is imperative you can carry out this assignment in your new identities. We have gone with your middle names so that it is not completely unnatural for you. We have medical teams, tech teams, backups – everything. You know already there is a team, at least one team from the smuggling ring watching you I assume?"

Richard nodded.

"OK, we don't want you heading out until the end of this week. We have booked a table at a small club at the end of the week for you. We have staff placed there, and here so you will be able to communicate if you are still under surveillance.

"OK I know it's been a long journey for you Bordey. I have taken the liberty of asking room service to deliver a meal up for the two of you. I know you must have a lot to discuss. I will leave now. We will take breakfast at Suite 125 tomorrow, 9am."

With that the Commissaire nodded curtly and left them both sitting at the table.

"Well – he makes you back in Saint Marie look positively friendly," said Camille, trying to gauge how Richard would feel. He shrugged and didn't seem to want to meet her eye.

She eventually had to break the silence between them. "Richard, what happened to you, why? I need to understand why you did that to us, to me?

"Richard – please LOOK at me… I have to know."

He switched his gaze, realising that she wasn't going to yell at him. Well not just yet anyway.

He took a deep breath, and began.


	4. Explanations

It was tough for Richard to know where to begin, and with Camille looking at him expectantly, he had to get this right. He shifted in his chair but kept his eyes down as he explained that with his skills in Mandarin, he had been asked to look over some material picked up by the National Crime Agency linking a smuggling and trafficking ring to the Caribbean but also their plans to expand.

Initially it had been a little bit of homework here and there while he was home but dispatches had continued when he got back to Saint Marie. For the most part Camille was quietly taking it all in, but the fact he had managed to do this for the six months he had been home before… before what happened, and she had no idea? That troubled her.

Richard was still talking, "Then it got a bit complicated. Sasha came into the equation – her company anyway, just on the periphery of the Lindeman Investments case. I knew her (well at least I thought I did) from Cambridge but when I was sent some photos sent from stake-outs I knew something wasn't quite right. But I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Meanwhile the more we scratched the surface for her company, the more we realised that it was a bigger player."

There was a sharp knock at the door which made them both jump. Room service had arrived, and as the food was laid out in her room, Richard took a moment to slip next door. He was still adjusting to the contact lenses, and any chance to take them out, he could. His phone buzzed as a text arrived – he read it frowning. That was a complication he didn't need just now so decided to ignore the message, knowing that a tricky confrontation was inevitable.

He returned as Camille stepped out of her bedroom dressed in more relaxed cloths – jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. He couldn't help himself as his eyes took in her slender figure.

"Come, sit – so when did you concoct this stupid idea then," she said noticing him wince. He obviously thought he was getting off lightly.

"Can't we talk about something else for a bit – like you and the guys?"

She relented – she had all night to put him through hell, she supposed. She gave him the quick run down on Fidel moving on, noticing a little look of pride on Richard's face. His recommendation and assessment on Fidel's first 6 months as a sergeant was one of the last things he had done as the Chief and he felt happy he had left some kind of mark.

Her description of Humphrey made him chuckle, as she described some of his more 'Columbo' like, but it reminded him that his deception had not only been hard on her, but made a bit of a fool out of Goodman too.

That distinction was not lost on Camille either, and the anger that was always bubbling close to the surface did not take long to appear.

"So on what planet did you think it was a great idea to fake your death then?"

Richard looked away again. It infuriated her so she leaned across the table, placing her hand on his cheek to turn his head so he would have to look at her. She tried to soften her approach: "Help me understand _why?"_

When he spoke, it came out almost as a whisper: "I just wanted to stop being boring "Dickie-boy" who never did anything other than the norm. In a way, I almost did it to… to be more like you – fearless. I guess I didn't stop to confront my greatest fear, which was giving you up. Losing you."

Camille was stunned into silence.


	5. The Hurricane Pt 1

The silence did not last long. While Richard expected her to explode, he still flinched as Camille let rip.

"When did I EVER give you any indication that I wanted you to be ANYTHING other than your usual pedantic, annoying self? What possessed you to want to seek adventure? You won't even try sleeping out of your stupid pyjamas," she started, erupting into a flurry of English and French.

It was all Richard could do not to shout back, grab her hands which were expressively spinning around like a windmill on crack, or just generally walk out.

He simply decided to wait until the hurricane blew itself out. Mind you, that was 10 minutes ago. Camille raged, throwing accusations in a mixture of English and French (which sounded so much worse) until finally he could stand no more. He grabbed her hands while she was bellowing all his shortcomings at him.

"STOP – look I know I was an imbecile, I know I am an idiot, I know I was stupid, I know all those things."

"THEN WHY, for God's SAKE Richard why?" She said. The fury was now dissipating and tears were not far behind. Her hands were shaking.

"Because I felt obligated to at least try. That's what I've always done – something comes along, a good potential career move, and reliable Dickie is the one to be put forward. I had a chance to work with two people I started my career with, but it wasn't until plans were well underway that I realised … I don't know … how I was feeling about you. But I felt compelled to go through with it all because I… didn't want to cause any trouble…" he finished lamely.

"Cause any trouble?" she echoed incredulously, glaring at him tearfully. "How did it all work," she all but whispered, not sure if she wanted to know the answer, for fear of reliving the whole experience.

Richard led her over to couch and sat her down, explaining how the original plan had involved him gathering data on Sasha/Helen and confronting her, but there was concern from high up that she may resort to more immediate means to nullify the risk he would cause her, if she was capable of covering up her sister's own death and assuming her identity. She had almost succeeded in putting Richard out of action for good, with the damage inflicted convincing the paramedics and the team that Richard was dead, save for a military prototype protective vest that just did enough to save Richard from a fatal wound.

When the paramedics were received at the hospital, a doctor unknown to them immediately took charge, aggressively working on Richard to resuscitate him. He did not fail to miss the flash of pain on her face as he described how they were almost too late to save him, given the time that had elapsed between the team being called out and their being able to move the body. The prototype had immediately released a compound to chill the immediate impact area, slowing his heart down to virtually a standstill, stemming the immediate blood flow and making the initial scene look like a fait accompli.

He looked up at her every now and again but the anger had subsided to abject misery as she relived that awful moment when she had seen him, covered in blood and dead before her.

"You must understand – All along, I never thought she would be so stupid to try and improvise when I was about to rumble her but I guess Alex understood how a woman's mind worked better than me – she was the one who secured the prototype, genius that she is…" he started before realising his slip.

"Just WHO is Alex?" bit back Camille, as Richard sat back with his head in his hands, gearing up for the second coming of Hurricane Bordey.


	6. Hurricane Bordey Part deux

"_Just WHO is Alex?" bit back Camille, as Richard sat back with his head in his hands, gearing up for the second coming of Hurricane Bordey._

It was about now that Richard really wanted a stiff drink. In the peace and solitude of his own room. And by own room, he meant his room back in the UK. Far away from a furious Frenchwoman who looked intent on rectifying this "miracle" of his being alive after all!

He looked around nervously to perhaps remove steak knives from her grasp, before realising that she probably knew how to damage him just using her little finger, or thumb, or some other digit.

"Well look, if you just let…"

"EXPLAIN…!" she bellowed at him, making him realise the wisdom of their rooms being at the end of the corridor, with a clear room between their suites and the rest of the floor.

"OK – JUST… STOP…. SHOUTING" he decided to bellow back.

Camille stood back – it was not often that Richard had ever set her back on his heels, and usually it had been on the receiving end of some self-pitying rant or when he had been frustrated by not getting hold of a case's elusive solution. She sat back down, but fixed him with a glare that left him under no illusions that this explanation had to be a good one.

"When I decided to be a policeman, I was one of three "boffins" in our intake – that was the nickname we were given. We weren't the only ones coming straight from university, but the three of us came from the top three unis and as such came in for a bit of stick," he began. So far so good, she wasn't about to kill him just yet, so he carried on.

"We became friends. Mark – he was from Durham and we just joined together and teased him mercilessly about being an Oxbridge reject," Richard chuckled, but when he got no reaction from Camille, he realised he was better off just ploughing on.

"Alex – she studied history too – at Oxford. We had tons in common, and with Mark all loved up with his uni sweetheart, we sort of got together. She was a bit of a rebound for me – I had been besotted with Helen but when it didn't work out … Alex was funny, witty, and it was great, even though she could be a bit… clingy."

Camille was still trying to display a stern, tell-me-what-I-need-to-know demeanour but there was no doubt her interest as piqued.

"Anyway fast forward to my re-assignment to the National Crime Agency, and who should I come across but Mark and Alex, now in charge of a select group going after big fish."

He paused – oh god this next bit had to be delivered, but how?

He continued: "The plan was… for me and Alex to be the cover –They figured as we had a history of sorts, they thought it would be second nature.."

"But?" said Camille – all thoughts of bludgeoning him to pieces with her suitcases rapidly departing by now.

"A lot has changed. Straight out of university with our careers ahead of us was one thing, and she's carved out a great career for herself, but it came at a cost to her personal life. And I guess my focus had changed too.

"Also that whole clingy thing. She hated the thought of me being in any danger or not being able to handle myself, so what should have been an easy chemistry between us had us looking every inch of our cover of an 'old married couple' – we couldn't stop arguing. There would have been no concerns about the druglords busting our cover and killing us, because we were about to do that ourselves.

"She's so used to being in charge, we couldn't just… work as partners. That was it. We had _never_ really had to work as partners.

"They were talking about scrapping the whole thing – months, actually years of work down the drain, and ultimately the reason we weren't working as a couple was… well … I couldn't stop thinking about you."

He looked up. Gone was the look of her wanting to damage him, slowly and repeatedly, and the fury that made her oh so much more attractive. Instead though, was a look of almost resignation and pain – oh lord, now what had he done wrong?

"But we … used to argue all the time," said Camille, softly.

Richard stayed quiet. She took his hand, and sought his eyes.

"Why me?"

"Because I think… the… well… what might have been developing between us… you know," he stumbled. She said nothing, waiting.

"I think that's what made us such a good team. We never had to say what the other was thinking we just knew. I never had that with anyone. And the… um… other stuff…"

Camille allowed herself a small, almost shy smile, despite herself.

"The other stuff was… a bonus?"

Richard smiled. "Does that mean you're not going to kill me now?"

* * *

They moved to the living area of the suite, falling back into the dynamic of chatting about cases like they did at the shack. Richard was distractedly fiddling with the side of the couch when suddenly the recliners shot out from underneath them both, rendering them prone, facing each other. They both laughed at the absurdity of one moment being sat talking and next literally lying next to each other.

Camille yawned, despite herself.

"Look, you must be exhausted – I'd better nip back to my room," Richard started, but Camille put her arm on his.

"No stay – go get the duvet. We will need to be comfortable in this kind of proximity with each other, so now is as good a time as any to start, no?" she said, raising her eyebrow in a not-quite alluring but still very sexy way at him. He started to get flustered, springing off the couch and grabbing the duvet from her King Size bed.

They chatted for a little longer, but sleep was really beginning to catch up with her.

"Now I really WILL go," he said, but still she refused. "Stay, look at least until I drop off?"

He nodded, watching her as sleep finally took her over. He felt his own eyes closing, as he reasoned he could just close them for 10 minutes… it would be fine.

* * *

She woke up a few hours later, her neck stiff from resting her head on the bulky cusions. Richard was sleeping alongside her – something she never thought she would witness – but damn this was uncomfortable.

She shook his shoulder. "Richard – come on, come to bed."

He blearily opened his eyes, grunting a little in annoyance as she swung herself off the reclined couch. "Perhaps I would be better going to my own room…" he started, but a familiar snap-point made him change his mind.

He shuffled to the bed, but hesitated.

"Richard – you have to get used to being close to me – it is the biggest give away undercover like this. And," she gestured to the size of the bed, " it's not as though you can't say there is enough space…"

He gingerly clambered in, feeling a little flustered as she cuddled up to him. She tried not to giggle as she felt him roll his hips away from her, but sleep was coming at her again with a vengeance. It wasn't long before he heard her breathing softly and deeply. He rolled onto to his back, letting her settle against his shoulder.

"Just 10 minutes… then I'll move," he thought.


End file.
